


chicken soup for the soul

by problematiquefave



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 09:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematiquefave/pseuds/problematiquefave
Summary: When Nick falls sick, the responsibilities fall on Troy -- if he's able to complete them in peace.





	chicken soup for the soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inkaley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/gifts).



> Prompt from Inkaley: “I may or may not be wearing a cape right now. Hint: I am.”
> 
> I made myself sad so I needed to write some fluff.

Troy doesn’t know how he ends up here, pushing a shopping cart along the bumpy streets outside the bazaar, the unrelenting sun beating down on his skin.

Actually he does – and it’s because saying no to Nick is impossible. _Especially_ when he’s sick.

Troy had woken up first the morning, rolling over in their lumpy queen-sized bed that didn’t quite fit the both of him. He gazed at the younger man’s face, memorizing the features that were already carved into his mind. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched his— well _boyfriend_ seemed somewhat juvenile, unable to describe the complexities of what they were, but he didn’t have another word for them. They were just Nick and Troy.

Maybe being half asleep was the reason it took him so long to notice the pallor of his skin and the warmth radiating off of him. But he did notice, his eyes narrowing as he pushed himself onto his elbow and reached out to feel Nick’s forehead. Bloodshot brown eyes cracked open, looking up at him.

“ _You’re sick_.”

Nick was indeed sick and thus his daily job of collecting heads for El Matarife fell upon Troy.

His thoughts on the task are… mixed. He doesn’t really like working for El Matarife even though he enjoys killing things – always has and always will, probably – but there’s also the fact that Nick is back in their room, sick in bed with a bucket by his side instead of Troy.

There’s one positive though and it’s the walkie-talkie hooked to his belt, the one that Nick has the mate of. It’s what keeps the worries at bay as Troy spots a small herd and steps towards them. He’s got a line straight to Nick and not even the machete he uses to chop through rotting necks can sever it.

He’s got four fresh ones in the cart when he decides to check on Nick. He grabs the device and holds it up to his lips, pressing the button before speaking. “You awake there, poet?” he asks, grinning against the plastic. He doesn’t even bother with an _over_.

There’s a beat of silence before a distorted voice comes back to him. “Possibly,” he replies in a flat, congested tone. “Might be dead too.”

“Try not stink up the room then,” Troy answers with a snort. There’s a momentary pause where he watches one of the heads try to gnaw at the bars of the shopping cart. “You need me to come back?”

“Nah. Just, y’know… Check on me a little later.”

Troy wets his lips. “Was planning on it. Over and out.”

He rehangs the walkie-talkie on his belt and pushes the cart forward; the wheels protest with a loud squeal but he doesn’t mind because it attracts the attention of one of the dead shambling by. The weight of the blade in his hand is heavier and, once, it would’ve been more comforting. Now he just moves with deadly precision, filling his cart with fresh heads for El Matarife, and debating what he can do for Nick later.

The sun is just past its zenith when the walkie-talkie crackles and Nick’s voice carries to his ears. “I may or may not be wearing a cape. Hint: I am.”

Troy raises an eyebrow at the message, coming to a sudden halt that riles up the heads. He sheathes his weapon and grabs his radio, holding it up to his lips. “I hope you’re not. Those blankets are filthy.” And they really are – everything at the bazaar is.

“You’re just a clean freak,” Nick shoots back. “And I look cool so it doesn’t matter.”

“How do you know what you look like?” he asks.

“I just sure of it.” He can’t hear the shrug over the signal but he can see it in his mind. And he can also see one of those dingy, off-white sheets of theirs tied around his neck. But he knows they don’t have a mirror in their room so Nick can’t see it unless he’s wandered off. A worry that his answer soothes.

Troy rolls his eyes, leaning against the handle of the shopping cart. “And I’m sure you look like a dork.”

“Maybe you should come and see,” Nick teases; Troy bites his lips to simultaneously repress a sigh _and_ a grin.

“Maybe I will. Now get back in bed – I have to see the boss first.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Nick says, and Troy shakes his head and his shoves off with his cart back towards the bazaar.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated! You can find me on Tumblr at [problematiquefics](https://problematiquefics.tumblr.com/).


End file.
